


#3: Don't Knock It 'Till You Try It

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint's unconventional childhood, Gen, Phil Knows Everything, Undercover, table manners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has to do something he <i>really</i> doesn't want to on an undercover op.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#3: Don't Knock It 'Till You Try It

“No,” Clint said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Barton,” Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I said ‘no,’ Coulson,” Clint responded, unwilling to budge.

“Bart-Clint. It’s too late to call in another agent on this, you know that. Your cover’s tight, and the legend fully backstopped. The deal is going down tonight, and you _have_ to be there,” Coulson said. 

“This wasn’t part of the original plan,” Clint pointed out needlessly. He never would have taken the op if it had been.

“I know,” Coulson acknowledged. “But you also know how plans change. This is the best chance we’re going to have to take this organization down before they get any bigger.”

Clint knew that. But what they were asking him to do…

“Jesus, Barton, it’s just a formal dinner, and it’s not like we’re asking you to go in as a waiter,” Coulson said, finally letting his frustration show. “Anyone else would jump at the chance.”

“You do it, then,” Clint said, though not with any real heat. 

“What, exactly, is your objection?” Coulson asked, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Clint grumbled under his breath. 

“Barton, we don’t have all day,” Coulson said tersely, his seemingly endless reserves of patience finally appearing to give out.

“I said I don’t know how to fucking behave at one of these things, okay?” he said, louder than he intended. “Or have y’all forgotten that I’m basically trailer trash with a sixth grade education who grew up in group homes and the circus, and no one really felt that table manners were needed skills.” Clint could fake his way through a lot of things, but a formal, multi-course fundraising dinner was not one of them. Especially when Clint’s contact was trying to pull off multiple shady deals with high profile individuals, all of whom would have decent levels of paranoia for anything hinky. 

Coulson buried his face in his hands and Clint caught a hint of a muffled laugh, which just fueled Clint’s irritation at the situation. “Is that all?” Coulson asked when he lifted his head, the amusement erasing his earlier frustration. 

“I’m not thrilled about having to wear a three piece suit,” Clint grumbled, but yeah, his biggest issue was worrying about blowing his cover by not knowing which fork to use or how to politely refuse wine (which he didn’t drink even if he wasn’t on a mission). At least he’d have a couple of backup weapons built into the suit so he wouldn’t be completely unarmed if the deal went pear-shaped.

“Okay. I can deal with that. Come on,” Coulson said, throwing open his office door and ushering Clint out and down the hallway. “Crash course in fine dining coming up,” he said, leading the way to the commissary. 

“This is such a bad idea,” Clint muttered fifteen minutes later as he sat in front of a formal dining set up made out of paper plates and plastic cutlery. “Coulson, I’m going to fuck this up,” he said, glancing up at the other man. “Look, I can call my contact, come down with the flu or something. You can get a couple guys on the catering staff to get the evidence you need to take these guys down without risking blowing the entire op.”

“Not with the level of security that’s going to be present,” Coulson countered. “Look, it’s not hard. Silverware works from outside in. Plates will be brought in from the left, taken away from the right. Don’t worry about the wine glasses; just tell the serve you don’t want them filled. Sip your soup from the side of the spoon, don’t slurp, and don’t scrape the bottom of the bowl. Lay your knife down after you cut each piece of food, but since you’re left handed you won’t have to worry about switching your fork to your right. Napkin goes in your lap. Cut small pieces and don’t talk with your mouth full,” Coulson advised.

“Such a bad idea,” Clint moaned, cradling his face in his hands.

He heard Coulson shift next to him and the warm hands gave his shoulders a squeeze before tugging Clint upright. “You can do this,” Coulson said. “Most of the people won’t care anyway, or will be too drunk to pay any attention to you. The only ones you have to worry about are your contact and his goons.”

Clint groaned. “So not helping,” he muttered, but then straightened up and took a deep breath. ”All right. Walk me through how to handle a cocktail hour without making everyone suspicious of my not drinking. And you so owe me a burger when this op is over.”

Coulson squeezed his shoulders again.


End file.
